


A Friend

by mcmissiles



Series: TES Minifics [5]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-01 19:15:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20263156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcmissiles/pseuds/mcmissiles
Summary: Llarala comes across an old friend at a Khajiit trading outpost.





	A Friend

**Author's Note:**

> All of these fics are about Llarala somehow. This wasn't exactly planned.  
In case it's unclear, Ajira is the alchemist from the Mages Guild in Morrowind, who is still alive because I said so. Llarala is both Nerevarine and Dragonborn (and very tired).  
Takes place during the plot of Skyrim.

Stepping out of the gates of Whiterun, Llarala took a moment to consider her plans. The trip ahead promised multiple days on the road without a carriage (and she’d always prefer to go on foot when she could). Her pack carried the necessities she’d picked up in town, but, noticing the Khajiit caravan down by the stables, she thought she might see if they had anything useful to trade. The traders at the caravan were more pleasant than those in the town square, at any rate, so long as they didn’t read the signature Dunmer haughtiness into her features. Adjusting her scarf around her shoulders, she strolled down the hill to the circle of tents where a few Khajiit sat, chatting as they tended to their wares. As Llarala approached, the one closest to the road looked up from the cloth he was stitching and raised a paw in greeting.

“What brings this one here today, traveler?”

Llarala gave a short wave. “Travel, what else? How’s the day treating you?”

“Cold and bleak as ever. But not so bad.” He shrugged. “You need supplies for your journey, no?”

Llarala nodded. “Just a few things.”

“Take a look around, then. See what grabs you.”

Llarala scanned the circle of tents. A pair of armored Khajiit hung to the side, one standing watch while the other polished a small dagger. The one she’d talked to had returned to stitching, and behind him was a display of clothing and light armor. On the far side of the camp, an older Khajiit swirled a bottle of red liquid and held it up to the weak sunlight. Something made Llarala stop—some familiarity, though she hadn’t thought she’d run across this caravan before. Before she could remember, the alchemist put down the potion and turned to face her. Her eyes went wide.

“Llarala?”

“I—you couldn’t be—_Ajira?_”

“_Llarala!”_ She leapt to her feet with unexpected agility for a Khajiit of her age. “You old sugartail! What are you doing alive?”

“I could ask you the same thing, you crazy cat!” exclaimed Llarala as she dodged the campfire to embrace her.

“You thought you’d got rid of me? You’ll have to do it yourself!” said Ajira, throwing her arms around Llarala in return.

“Clearly I can’t, if leaving the whole continent for two centuries didn’t do it!”

“Hey—watch the—” protested Ajira before the two of them overbalanced and collapsed, narrowly missing the carefully organized stacks of ingredients by her tent. Llarala’s face ached from what might have been her first genuine smile in a century or more.

Propping herself up on one arm, Llarala beamed at Ajira. “How did you _get _here?”

“That’s a better question for you. Or better, where have you been?”

“Akavir.”

“_Akavir?_ How did you end up in Akavir?”

“With Vivec.”

“_The_ Vivec?”

“An old friend, as it turns out.” She shook her head. “But that’s a long story that I’d rather not tell just now. What about you? Where have you been?”

“On the road since leaving Vvardenfell. Ajira was lucky and got away before things really took a turn. Your Vivec could not keep the place safe forever.”

Llarala’s face fell. “Vivec died around then. After the Tribunal fell, it was only a matter of time.”

“So it’s true? The gods died, and didn’t disappear like the others said?”

Llarala nodded.

“You still mourn them.”

“There was… much I never got to say to them. Like I said, it’s a long story.” She sighed, shook her head, then brightened. “Actually, which way is your caravan headed? If they don’t mind me traveling alongside you for a while, I could try to tell it. By the—well, by anyone, it’d be nice to talk to someone who could understand it all.”


End file.
